Having a quiet day in my place here on this Sunday. The pole position is set for the Indy 500, Don Williams is playing through my nice bedroom system. I should mow, I should dust and put stuff away. But God rested on Sunday, so I will too.
I’ve been thinking about my Dad…our Gordy has gotten old. He’s worked and drove and loved and given all he had to give. And yet he toils and mows and dusts and reads and remembers.

Dad and his girls

My Dad is akin to a tired aged grape vine. Many decades in the sun and cold. Years of fruition and harvest. If grapes be children, and wines be their labor…Well Gordy has more than done his job. Even now when the vine is barren, the rains don’t fall…the nights are longer and the longing is fading. Here we sit in dusty bottles. The fruits of his labors, the best he had to give. And the younger vines still hold bunches of sweet fruit. The circle remains…
Not all wine is sweet, not all grapes are desired…but with pride and gentle love remains Gordy…mostly missing the love of his life.
The days are a precious commodity now. Father’s day will soon be at hand. And there sits the keeper of memories, the teller of stories, the holder of babies. A slightly gnarled and resting old vine.
You’ve earned your rest Dad, and unlike some others, I forgive you for having gotten old. You’re my hero, my wonder, my pride. You’re my Momma’s only man, just as she was your only girl…

I hope your sleep is peaceful, and your memories grow more kind. I hope you’re satisfied and proud of me…Love ya Dad. Your boy Matthew, your number four son.